“How is Reb Saunders?” he asked quietly. I told him what Reb Saunders had talked about that afternoon. My father nodded slowly. He was pale and gaunt, and his skin had a yellowish tint to it and was parchmentlike on his face and hands. “Reb Saunders wanted to know how God could let something like this happen,” I told him quietly. My father looked at me, his eyes somber. “And did God answer him?” he asked. His voice had a strange quality of bitterness to it. I didn’t say anything. “Did God answer him, Reuven?” my father asked again, that same bitterness in his voice. “Reb Saunders said it was
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